


Dear Murphy Family

by bellabonbon



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Gen, Lots of Angst, Memories, Suicide, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 04:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11028312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellabonbon/pseuds/bellabonbon
Summary: He was literally born into the most normal, All-American looking family in the world. Like… look at their life from the outside, and what the hell does he have to complain about? Nothing. They could be on the cover of a copy of Good Housekeeping from the 50s if it wasn’t for him. He’s the one who makes them wrong.He’sthe one who ruins their perfect image. It’s always been him. He’s the one messing them up, so that’s why he needs to leave. It’s better for all of them. Definitely better for his dad and better for Zoe.And maybe his mom doesn’t know it, but better for her, too.....Connor writes three letters.





	Dear Murphy Family

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters.

He’s always known that his dad hated him.

He doesn’t really think there was any _aha moment_ or anything that tipped him off- he’s just kind of always known. There have been moments obviously, memories scattered here and there in his brain, where his dad has been nice to him or done nice things. But those moments are really rare. The memories of his dad are mostly bad. Not bad like some kids, he’s sure. Not bad like he had to hide under his bed because his dad was drunk and wanted to hurt him. His dad never physically hurt him. He was never abused. He was never scared of his dad. Not like some kids. 

But his memories are still just… bad.

There’s a lot of yelling. A lot of grounding. A few times when his dad had grabbed him really tightly or shaken him really hard, kind of like he really _wanted_ to hit him but knew he couldn’t. Or shouldn’t anyway. Not if he wanted to stay married. Or maybe not if he wanted to stay out of jail because Connor’s pretty sure that if his dad ever _started_ hitting him, he probably wouldn’t be able to stop. 

Mostly, though, his memories are just a lot of _disappointment._

He’s always kind of known that he wasn’t the right type of son. Not the type his dad probably imagined anyway. He thinks about how excited he probably was when they found out his mom was having a boy. He probably had all this awesome stuff planned out that started with little league and ended with him dating the prom queen and being quarterback of the football state champions. Not that Connor blames him. That was basically _literally_ his dad, so it seems like a pretty safe assumption that he could raise a kid like that, too. 

Only, Connor never liked little league. He would basically rather stab himself (no, seriously) than go anywhere near the football team. And he doesn’t even know who the prom queen at his school _is._ Honestly doesn’t even know if prom queen is something real schools do or if it’s just one of those things that’s mostly made up for TV and movies. How would he know? He’s never been to prom. Will never _go_ to prom. 

He remembers this one time when he was like eight maybe. There was this father/son softball game for charity or something. He’s pretty sure the country club sponsored it to raise money for some organization for underprivileged kids or something. They were always raising money for underprivileged something. Connor’s never missed the irony of that shit, not even when he was a little kid. Even at seven or eight, he knew he was _extremely_ privileged. Maybe he didn’t necessarily think of himself as _rich_ back then because he still had some second grade ideology of rich being kings and queens who had piles of physical gold and servants. So maybe he didn’t equate his family with the word _rich,_ but he knew they had a lot more than some people. He knew their house was a lot bigger, knew their cars were a lot nicer. He knew that his mom came to school more than a lot of the other mothers because those other mothers had to go to work and didn’t have time to bring cupcakes to the class or help them make handprint Thanksgiving turkeys. 

So he’s never really understood why places like the country club- places where the people had even _bigger_ houses and _nicer_ cars- threw big elaborate events that probably cost thousands of dollars just to raise money to help a bunch of people they probably would never even make eye contact with on the street.

Needless to say, he also judged the irony of a father/son softball game to raise money for kids who may not have even _had_ dads and who probably couldn’t even afford little league, which Connor knew for a fact was expensive as fuck. 

He didn’t want to go to that game. He _told_ his dad he didn’t want to go to that game. His _mom_ told his dad he didn’t want to go to that game. But he still got dragged to that game. He was miserable because he knew how terrible he was at all kinds of sports. He’d lasted a grand total of three weeks in T-ball when he was like four, and he’d managed to beg his way out of every other organized sport his dad tried to push him into. It was a little easier to dodge stuff like that because Zoe was always begging to sign up for _everything._ She wanted to play T-ball and soccer and basketball. She wanted to do ballet and go to gymnastics. She wanted to be a Brownie and take piano and play guitar. Their parents were always taking her places and going to her stuff, so they didn’t care as much that he just wanted to tag along and not really participate. 

But apparently that truce ended when it came to charity father/son softball.

He remembers almost crying that morning and feeling literally sick at the breakfast table. Like he might just throw his oatmeal up all over the kitchen floor. He tried everything he could to get out of it last minute. He begged, he said he was sick, he whined to his mom. He tried really hard to offer Zoe up as a replacement, especially since she’d been pouting for days that she _couldn’t_ play. He tried to point out how sad she was (she was really just being a brat, sitting at the table with her arms crossed and her bottom lip stuck out- seriously) because he knew from experience that his dad hated seeing Zoe upset and would always just give her anything she wanted to make her happy.

But all that accomplished was his dad emphasizing the words _father/son_ and then telling Zoe that he would take her to get a new bike after the game because she’d mentioned the night before that she didn’t like pink anymore and that purple was her new favorite color.

Seriously. Connor got dragged to hell on earth, and Zoe got a new purple bike. Super fair.

Needless to say, the whole thing was a disaster. His dad ditched him pretty much as soon as they got to the ballpark, running off to talk to some of his friends about golf or politics or whatever it was that boring old men decided to talk about to make themselves feel entertaining and important. To be fair, his dad ditching him wasn’t that unusual- pretty much all the dads ditched their kids pregame. The difference, of course, is that all the other kids didn’t care because that just meant they got to laugh and play and chase each other around the dugout without adults around to tell them to calm down. Connor, though, didn’t know any of those kids. Well, that’s not really true. He recognized most of them from the club, but it wasn’t like they were _friends._ They didn’t go to his school or anything. Not that that would have made any difference because he didn’t even have friends at school, either. He was too weird. Kids at school didn’t like him and didn’t want to play with him because he was just too weird or too gross or whatever. These kids didn’t really know him, but they could obviously sense his weirdness and grossness because none of them wanted to play with him, either. They didn’t even look at him. They all just laughed and played and chased each other, and he just… sat on the bleachers alone and tried really hard disappear into thin air.

It didn’t work.

The game was a disaster. All the mothers and daughters and grandparents and whoever else showed up and wrote their checks to whatever charity bullshit they were supposed to be playing for, and then they had to actually do it. Play. And Connor- because he was sometimes prone to panic attacks that his dad liked to call dramatic pleas for attention- decided he really couldn’t do this, not just didn’t want to, really _couldn’t._ And he sat there in the dugout beside his dad who was way into the game and cheering on their team even though they were pretty objectively terrible. And he just started crying. He tried not to, but then he decided it was either cry and get it out or try to hold it in and risk a full-out gasping, wheezing panic attack. So he just started crying because he knew that the second he had to get up and bat, he was going to be terrible and everyone would laugh at him, and his dad would hate him and his mom and Zoe would probably have to leave the ballpark in humiliation. So he just started crying.

“Connor,” his dad magically noticed his tears and hissed at him quietly. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

So many things probably. As an eight year old, though, he didn’t have a list of self-diagnosed things that were wrong with him. As an eight year old, he just answered the question. “I don’t want to do this.”

His dad was pissed and was glancing around to make sure nobody was paying attention because god forbid somebody see a damn second grade kid crying. “You’re acting like a baby. Stop it. Stop crying.”

Connor’s never been an expert on human interaction, but in his experience, telling someone to stop crying usually has the opposite effect. It certainly did for him at that point because he remembers just crying even more. His dad was obviously mortified because he just looked around real fast to make sure nobody was staring, and then he grabbed Connor by the upper arm, pulled him out of his seat, and dragged him away from the dugout over to where the bathrooms were. Connor knew better than to make a scene, even though he was obviously about to be in big trouble. 

He was still crying by the time his dad finally dropped his arm and let him go. The bathroom was nasty and gross, and Connor just stared at the mirror that was so dirty and warped that it barely even had a reflection. And he remembers thinking for a brief second that he wished all mirrors looked like that because then he’d never have to see himself. He only thought about it for a second, though, before his dad was snapping at him. 

“Look at me!” So Connor did, and his dad was angry because he was almost always angry when it came to Connor. “You’re being ridiculous. Get it together.”

Connor never really knew what that meant. He never knew what the “it” was that he was supposed to be getting together. As a kid, and even sort of now, it has just always seemed like code for _stop being yourself._ Stop doing whatever the hell it is that makes him such a disappointment. 

Connor started to apologize, tried to form a few words to just make his thoughts and feelings known. But his dad didn’t want to hear it. Of course he didn’t. He never wanted to hear anything from Connor. Instead, he just grabbed some paper towels out of the dispenser and pushed him toward the nasty stained sink.

“Wash your face and stop this. You’re not going to embarrass me by acting like a two year old.”

So Connor washed his face and forced himself to stop crying. His chest burned and pulled, but he managed to at least stop the physical evidence of his feelings. Once his dad was satisfied that nobody would be able to tell his son was really just a crybaby, he took them back out to the game. Connor dragged his feet up to bat, and he struck out, of course. He didn’t know whether to be relieved that he didn’t have to run the bases or just embarrassed because he knew his dad would take his lack of athletic ability as a personal attack. The game went on. He stood in the outfield and watched the ground and just prayed to the god he sort of still believed in then that nobody would hit a ball his direction. When it was over, both teams walked by each other and high-fived, and Connor didn’t make eye contact with anyone because even though a ton of people struck out, he was positive he was the worst and didn’t want to see people judging him.

And then after the game, his parents took them out for pizza. And Zoe laughed when she told him how dumb he looked out there. He told her to shut up, but then she just laughed some more and got up on her knees in the booth and did an impression of him trying and failing to hit a ball. His dad actually _laughed_ because Zoe was just so goddamn precious and adorable and how cute did she look making fun of her brother like that! Connor’s face felt hot, and he was pissed off and embarrassed. And he remembers his mom reaching over and grabbing Zoe’s arm and physically forcing her to sit back down on her butt while she said, “Stop it, Zoe! Larry, it’s not funny.” 

Connor didn’t really feel like eating much after that, and his dad just growled at him about wasting money.

Two days later, he was still pretty angry and embarrassed about the whole thing. He was apparently being too moody at home because his dad had called him dramatic like six times and had also threatened to ground him if he didn’t snap out of it and “get it together.” Zoe took every opportunity she could to do her impression again, which was morphing from a small strike out mimic into a full-blown ballet dance with wobbly knees and shaking shoulders. It seemed to grow more dramatic with every chuckle it elicited from their dad. If their mom was around, she’d shut it down, snapping at Zoe to stop it, glaring at their dad. Having his mom on his side was nice, but it didn’t help his mood anyway.

Ms. Giordano obviously didn’t like his mood at school Monday, either. She didn’t like his mood a lot really, but apparently he was being extra moody that day because she kept bugging him all morning long. And then he was taking a vocabulary test on the computer and got frustrated because it kept freezing up (seriously, their school was so fucking cheap and had computers from like the 90s or something). He slammed the mouse down in irritation and was a little too distracting for her taste apparently because she made a point to tell him that she would be skipping him as line leader today because he couldn’t “keep his temper in check.” Now… He didn’t give one single shit about being the line leader. That was lame and who cared anyway? But the fact that she had to purposely call him out in front of the whole class when he was _already_ having a really bad day?

The printer didn’t even hit her, okay? He’s not even entirely sure that he was actually throwing it _at_ her. He just got really pissed, and his first instinct was to pick up the closest thing to him and hurl it. To be honest, he barely even remembers it. He remembers it _happening_ obviously because he’s pretty sure it’s still what he’s most well-known for, and people _still_ talk about it. But his actual memories of it are hazy. Probably because he was like blackout angry. That’s happened to him a few times, but the printer thing might have been the first time.

He really just remembers sitting there in the principal’s office staring at the floor and refusing to speak when he was being interrogated and chastised. He already knew he was in trouble, so anything he said wasn’t going to help anything or change anything. Plus, he just didn’t want to talk, so he just didn’t.

His mom’s the one who showed up. He remembers feeling briefly relieved to see her walk through the door- one, because he knew she would be taking him home and two, because she wasn’t his dad. She was glaring at him, though, and when they made him go sit outside with the secretary, she was clenching her jaw like she was working really hard not to lose her temper in public. When she finished talking to the principal, she came out and said something to the secretary who then got on the intercom and called Zoe’s class. 

The ride home wasn’t great. His mom didn’t say a word except to snap at Zoe to be quiet after she asked what happened for the fifteenth time. Connor just sat there and also didn’t say anything because he knew there was no point. He was in trouble. Probably like the worst trouble of his life. Sometimes if he got in trouble at home or at school, his mom would just deal with it and not tell his dad because she knew his dad would overreact or just make things worse. But there was no way in hell she wasn’t telling him about _this._

He went to his room without being told, and he just sat there for a really long time waiting for somebody to come in and punish him. His mom finally showed up, obviously still angry but calmed down a lot from earlier. She stood by his door with her arms crossed and asked him why he thought it was ever okay to do something like that.

He didn’t think it was okay to ever do something like that. He _knew_ it wasn’t okay to throw printers in the general direction of second grade teachers. Or anywhere for that matter. But he still did it. He didn’t know why.

So he just shrugged.

“Your dad is going to be furious.”

He shrugged again. He knew that, too.

“Connor!” She sounded exasperated and tired and like she just couldn’t deal with him right then. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Same question his dad always loved to ask. He still didn’t have an answer for that, so he just shrugged again.

Obviously that did it because his mom threw her hands up in the air like she was just _done._ She stormed out of his room and back downstairs, and Zoe showed up in his doorway like two minutes later. 

“What did you do? Mom is _so mad._ ”

He glared at her, suddenly really, really pissed off. He stood up and once again grabbed the closest thing to him. Luckily, it wasn’t a printer this time and was just a binder, but he still hurled it as hard as he could right at her face. 

“Get the hell out of my room!”

He missed (see? sucked at sports), and the binder just landed at her feet, flying open and sending paper scattering everywhere. Zoe still acted like he fucking shot her or something and ran out of the room crying and screaming, _”Mom! Mom! Connor threw a book at me!”_

He was right about being in the worst trouble of his life (up to that point anyway). He held his breath from the second he heard his dad’s car until he finally heard his footsteps on the stairs. When he saw his dad, though, he let the breath out and just sat there at his desk while his dad screamed and screamed at him. Normally, if his dad started screaming this much, his mom would show up and try to stop him. But she obviously thought he really deserved it this time or something because she didn’t swoop in to defend him or save him. 

“Do you even realize how much trouble you’re in?! You got _suspended!_ What kind of kid gets suspended in the _second grade?!_ You’re lucky they aren’t pressing charges against you! That’s something you could go to _jail_ for! Do you want to go to jail, Connor?!”

His brain fizzled out at that point. He knew he wasn’t going to jail. Eight year olds didn’t go to jail. He wasn’t an idiot. His dad was screaming and screaming, totally red in the face and looking like he could just choke Connor or something and not even feel bad about it. But Connor just sat there and decided not to hear the words that were being yelled at him. He didn’t know how he did it, didn’t know if it was something everyone could do or if he was just special. But it was like he could just turn his dad’s voice off. He stared at him, didn’t say anything, and just zoned out for probably ten straight minutes of screaming.

“Are you listening to me?!” For some reason that seemed to break his voluntary muting, and he blinked in response. “You better hope Ms. Giordano is a forgiving woman because you’re going to spend every second of the next three days writing her an apology letter. And when you go back to school, you’re going to give it to her and tell her that you’re sorry and that you’re grounded for the next _month_ because if you think for one damn second that you’re leaving this room any time soon, you are very wrong!”

Connor still didn’t say anything. He was trying to count how many seconds were in three days and then trying to decide how many pages that would require, even though he knew it was an exaggeration. 

“Do you _hear_ me?! Connor! I swear to god…” His dad was fuming, and he clenched and unclenched his hands like he was trying to calm himself down a little bit. “One day you’re going to be an adult, and when you do stupid shit like this, you’re going to have to deal with the consequences! If you _ever_ do something like this again…” He shook his head and let out a ragged breath. “I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the night. Start writing that letter.”

Connor thinks about that night as his pen hovers over his notebook. It’s so weird because he’s in the exact same position, just sitting at his desk like ten years later. He feels a lot older but doesn’t really feel much bigger. That’s dumb, he knows. Obviously he’s way bigger than he was. He doesn’t know why he still feels like that little kid sometimes. 

He wonders if his dad will be relieved not to see his face anymore. He won’t have to wonder what the hell’s wrong with him anymore because there won’t be anything wrong.

_Dad,_

_Hopefully you’ll be a lot happier now. I know I’ve made you miserable my whole life, so now you won’t have to deal with it anymore. I used to feel bad about making you so miserable and wonder what the hell I could do to make you happy. But I haven’t really cared in a long time._

_You always wanted to know what the hell was wrong with me, but you never wanted to let me find out. So I guess you can just wonder forever now. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I’m like this, and I’m really tired of trying to guess. I gave up trying to change a long time ago._

_Sorry I couldn’t be who you needed me to be, but really, I’m not that sorry. I’m not sorry because even though I know I could have done a lot of shit differently, you could have, too. But you didn’t. Not even when I was too young to understand why you didn’t like me and just had to wonder what I was doing wrong. So I just want you to know that I didn’t forget that shit. I hope you didn’t, either._

_But now you’re in the clear. You don’t have to worry about fixing me or making me be somebody different. You don’t have to spend any more money on me or feel embarrassed to take me around your friends._

_Have a nice life. Or don’t. I don’t really care._

_Connor_

… … …

 

He is exactly twelve months and three weeks older than Zoe. 

People used to think they were twins all the time, and when they found out that they weren’t, they’d always ask their mom if she was crazy. And their mom would laugh and say, “Must be!” And then the people would be like, “You’re a better woman than me!”

Or sometimes people would look horrified and say, “Did you do that on _purpose_?!” and their mom would laugh awkwardly. They didn’t really understand that when they were little, but obviously they started figuring it out as they got older. Some people would even really inappropriately ask _them_ if their parents did it on purpose. Like their parents made a habit of discussing anything like that with them or confirming that yes, at least one of them (Zoe) was an accident.

Connor hated the odd years of elementary school. Their grades were always paired up on those years, and he just hated it. Lunch, recess, everything. It was always split up like kindergarten-first grade, second-third grade, fourth-fifth grade. So every other year, he had to see Zoe all the time, and she would always go way out of her way to bug the crap out of him. She would find him on the playground and show up with her whole group of friends to laugh and point out that he didn’t even have any friends and that’s why he was sitting on the bench by himself reading. Like he didn’t realize this or like he needed a reminder. Or she’d run up to his table in the cafeteria and loudly remind him of something embarrassing that happened at home or something. Something he definitely didn’t need his class knowing. And then she’d laugh until a teacher would show up and direct her back to her own table.

He just wished really hard that there were at least a few more months between them- anything to put at least two grades between them so that he’d never have to see her at school.

Sometimes they got along okay at home, at least when they were little. He remembers playing with her, always letting her pick the game because she was a lot better at that stuff than he was. She liked to play pretend a lot, and he did, too, he guesses. He usually went along with her at least, like if she told him that they were kids whose parents died in a fire and who had to run away and live on the streets because the orphanage was so terrible. Or if she decided that they were a prince and princess who had to hide their identities because an angry mob was trying to take over their kingdom. He could never come up with good stories, so he’d just go along with hers. And they played like that kind of a lot when they were really little. He never really noticed back then, but she always put them in scenarios where they didn’t have parents or their parents weren’t around. Looking back at it, he wonders what hidden psychological meaning had to be there.

Not like he should judge somebody’s psychological state or anything. Obviously.

They didn’t always play nicely together, though. Most of the time, they just fought. They argued over any and everything. He doesn’t know why they always argued so much. Maybe because she was literally one of the few people he ever actually spoke to on a regular basis, and he had to get his aggression out somewhere. But still.

He wasn’t supposed to hit her. Technically speaking, she wasn’t supposed to hit him, either, but she was much more likely to get away with it than he was. Once, when they were like twelve or thirteen, they started arguing over whose turn it was to clean their bathroom. Connor knows for a fact that it was her turn, and he’s pretty sure she was also well aware of that fact when their argument occurred. She was swearing up and down that it was his turn, though, and then they just got in this huge argument that just escalated like crazy. She ended up hitting him and scratching his face. He normally wasn’t really a tattler (that was her job), but he thought maybe since he was, you know, _bleeding_ that his dad might actually have to admit for once that Zoe wasn’t a perfect little angel.

But nope. His dad just shook his head at him and told him to “stop being a little sissy” and told him to stop picking fights with his little sister. He, of course, totally ignored the fact that they were essentially the same age pretty much and that she was an inch taller than him and had at least fifteen pounds on him at that point. He hated that, too. As if he wasn’t enough of a freak already, his _little sister_ was bigger than him for like three years. 

When their mom came home from the store, Connor went to her, and she actually got mad and grounded Zoe for the rest of the night. Of course, that just caused a fight between his parents because his dad said he had already “handled it,” and Zoe got ungrounded just as fast.

Her scratching his face wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened between them. Not by a long shot. He choked her once. Like literally put both hands around her throat and slammed her against the wall when they were on vacation one summer because she stole his phone and started snooping. That was another blackout angry moment. He doesn’t even know how he snapped like that, but he did. And then she was shoving at him and turning red and crying, and he didn’t let go until their dad came flying at him and physically pulled him off. 

Connor doesn’t really remember it- just has all those hazy static memories that just feel scattered and broken and mixed up. He remembers his dad grabbing him and shaking him and yelling right in his face. Connor can’t remember a single thing he said, though. He just remembers feeling numb and knowing that he deserved whatever was being yelled at him. He was too tuned into Zoe who was crying somewhere behind him in these loud, broken sobs. And he remembers his parents yelling at each other before his dad started yelling at him again. But mostly he just remembers Zoe crying.

And then Connor started crying, even though he normally made a habit of either not reacting at all to his father or yelling back. But it wasn’t about his dad. It was about Connor and how he realized suddenly that even though he’d always known there something wrong with him… that there was something _really_ wrong with him.

His dad let go of him after he started crying. He just dropped him and then just left. He remembers his mom screaming something after him, but he just ignored her and left, slamming the door behind him. And then his mom was just standing there between her two kids who were both crying, and she had tears in her own eyes. Connor just watched her as she kept looking back and forth between them like she didn’t know what she was supposed to do or who she was supposed to take care of first.

And then, for maybe the first time ever, she chose Zoe over him.

And whatever. That’s what she _should_ have done. Zoe was on the floor with her face in her knees, and their mom went and knelt down beside her and started hugging her and petting her hair. And yes. That was the right choice. Connor couldn’t blame her for it, but it still stung. Even though he knew he had no right to feel jealous or betrayed because he didn’t even deserve his mom’s comfort at all, much less deserve it more than Zoe did. So he just went to the bathroom and locked himself in.

He stared at himself in the mirror. Unlike that dirty, warped mirror he saw at the ballpark all those years ago, this one was sparkling clean and super clear. And he just looked at his reflection and hated every single thing about it. He was crying, even though he had no right to. His face was red and even uglier than normal. The blotchy skin he hated looked even worse than usual with tears streaking down it. His eyes looked cold and dull, and he remembers thinking that this is what a monster must look like.

Because he _was_. A monster. He was a monster.

He’d just tried to hurt his sister. Like really, truly hurt her. He has no idea what would have happened if no one had been there to pull him off, and he just remembers thinking that he wasn’t normal. He was evil. Bad. Seriously, seriously fucked up. He knew that everybody fought with their siblings sometimes, but only really, truly horrible people actually tried to _hurt_ them.

He forced himself to look in the mirror. Just so he could see himself. See how fucked up he was. See how terrible he was. So he could see what the worst kind of person actually looked like.

He ignored his mom when she finally started knocking on the door. She wasn’t pounding on it or shouting at him. She was just knocking gently and then speaking to him in a calm tone. She was being _nice_.

“Baby, open the door. Everything’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. _He_ wasn’t okay. He was wrong. Everything about him was wrong.

She kept trying, but she eventually gave up. She knocked one last time and said, “I’m going to bed. But Connor, _please_ come talk to me when you feel better.”

He knew he wouldn’t talk to her. Because he wouldn’t _feel better._ He never felt okay. He knew he never would.

He waited a few minutes after he heard her leave, and then he filled the bathtub up with water. He got in the tub and tried to hold his head under as long as he could. He remembers how badly his lungs burned and how he just kept telling himself to stay down, stay down, stay down. But he couldn’t do it. Physically couldn’t do it. His body wouldn’t let him stay down long enough to stop breathing. So every time he’d try, he’d eventually end up shooting out of the water and gasping for breath.

But he decided then that someday he’d figure out something his instincts wouldn’t prevent.

He never apologized to Zoe for that night. He started to a couple of times, but he just never got it out. He still thinks about it, though. He can still hear her sobbing on the ground, can still see the tears streaking down her face as she struggled against him. 

He tries to block it out of his head, but it’s still there.

Their relationship was never that great to begin with, but it’s just gone downhill. He can’t remember the last time they had a halfway cordial conversation. She’s just always so _angry_ at him, and it’s not like he doesn’t understand. He does. He knows her life is worse because of him. He’s always known that, but he doesn’t know how to be different. It’s not like he goes out of his way to make her life miserable- they’re too old for that shit- but he doesn’t know how to just exist and not totally fuck up her life.

She’s been pissed at him all day. Literally since they woke up. He didn’t turn the fan on in their bathroom, and the mirror got fogged up after his shower. He drank the last of the milk. He almost made her late on the first day of school. He shoved a kid down in the hallway first thing in the morning…

She was super pissed about that. 

“He’s got a fucking cast on his arm, Connor!”

“Can’t you just try to be normal for _one day?!_ Jesus!”

“You’re such an asshole!”

He didn’t want to care. Cast or no cast, that kid laughed at him. Or snickered. Or _something._ Over something Jared fucking _Kleinman_ said. That kid found it funny.

He keeps calling him _that_ kid in his head because it’s easier than thinking of him by his name. Evan Hansen. Connor knows him. Obviously. They’ve gone to school together forever. He knows he’s friends with Jared Kleinman. Knows he stutters a lot. Knows he almost had a nervous fucking breakdown during his Great Gatsby speech last year. 

Knows he’s basically the only kid in school who’s more of a mess than he is.

Connor doesn’t want to think about what it means that his immediate reaction was to physically assault him. Like maybe for one fucking day the bullied could become the bully. It’s fucked up. He knows that. He knows his brain is _super fucked up,_ so it doesn’t surprise him at all that he’d instinctively pounce on weakness when he saw it.

Doesn’t make it right, though.

That’s mostly why he decided to talk to him in the computer lab. He went in there to avoid the cafeteria and just happened to see a paper on the printer with Evan Hansen’s name right at the top. And then there was Evan Hansen ready to pick up his paper and leave, but Connor stopped him.

They exchanged a few words (fell out of a fucking tree?), and then Connor offered to sign his cast because he couldn’t think of many things more pathetic than falling out of a tree and then being unable to find anyone to even sign your cast. Not that anyone would be lining up to sign his own cast, but he’d also never be climbing a fucking tree.

And then the part about pretending to have friends just slipped out. Connor doesn’t know why he said it. He didn’t know then, either- just kind of thought that his mom might like it if he had a friend. Like maybe she’d stop looking like she just felt so bad for him all the time.

He shouldn’t have read the letter. It wasn’t his business. Who does that? Who picks up somebody else’s document and reads it? It’s stupid. He shouldn’t have done it. But he did.

Evan was a stuttering wreck about it, claiming that it was some kind of assignment. But that’s bullshit. It’s the first day of school. And what kind of class sets an assignment to write some creepy letter to yourself? It’s like written masturbation or something. Nobody’s gonna be into that. And then the stuff about Zoe? He totally threw that in there to get a rise out of Connor. Because apparently he needed more evidence to make him look like a fucking crazy ass psychopath. Getting shoved down in the hallway just wasn’t enough. 

He needed something to really make him snap.

Connor reads the letter over again and thinks how fucked up it would all sound if it wasn’t some really rude bait. What does this shit about Zoe even mean? And when he really thinks about it… does he even _care_ if dudes are into Zoe? Like of course they are. Probably. He doesn’t know really. Not like people share stupid teenage gossip with him. He doesn’t think she’s had like an actual boyfriend or anything. But Zoe’s… pretty. Objectively. He guesses. Like she’s definitely more attractive than he is, for sure. Some people say they look alike, like their aunts and uncles who just meet them randomly at family get-togethers. Connor doesn’t really see it. Zoe’s eyes don’t look sunken in and dead. Her skin is a lot smoother than his. Her nose doesn’t have that weird bump in it that takes over her entire face.

Maybe they looked more alike when they were younger. Before his insides started matching his outsides. There’s this one picture hanging up in the hallway downstairs, and he can see it there. They were a lot younger- probably like five or six. Their mom _clearly_ picked out their outfits because they’re basically dressed alike in these navy blue and white outfits, just Zoe’s in dress form and his in pants. His hair is short, and hers is like maybe to her shoulders and pulled back from either side of her face by these little white barrettes. Zoe’s sitting down in this like white chair, and he’s standing behind her with his hands crossed on the back of the chair. It’s a totally lame, generic looking picture. But he can see why some people used to think they were twins (even though, yes, he passed biology- he knows how it works). Their faces are very similar, same shape, same skin-tone. But it’s their smiles, really. They’re almost identical. Their lips are thin and stretched wide while they smile for the camera. He thinks they’re probably both missing various teeth, but you can barely even tell with the way their smiles are shaped. 

He doesn’t know if their smiles still look the same. He doesn’t think he’s seen her smile in a long time. He knows he hasn’t seen himself.

_Zoe,_

_I hope this makes your life better and not worse. I know I’ve fucked up everything for you at school, probably for a long time. Sorry about that, I guess. I mean, I didn’t really ever try to make things bad for you, and I’m sorry if people give you shit because of me. At least in two more years, you can bail on that hellhole and go far away. If you want, I mean. I don’t know what you want to do for college or whatever. I think you should probably go to college, but if you don’t want to, that’s fine, too, I guess. Just get out of here._

_Please don’t let them do something lame like put up a memorial or something. I don’t want that. I hate all those assholes, and they hate me. I don’t want some fake grief or whatever that’s just supposed to make them feel better. Fuck them. Seriously. Don’t let them do that._

_I know you’re probably super pissed at me because I know this is going to make shit at home even worse. But please be nice to Mom, okay? Just like, talk to her or whatever. I know I don’t have a right to be asking any favors, but she’s not a bad person. And I just want her to have somebody because she’s married to a total dick._

_I don’t know why I’m like this. I know I’ve been really horrible to you sometimes, and I’m sorry. There’s stuff I wish I could take back, but I can’t. I know saying sorry now doesn’t fix anything, but I figured you at least deserved that. So. Sorry, I guess. I don’t know what else to say. I hope life gets better for you now. I hope you get out of here. I hope you get to do something awesome one day._

_I think you’re pretty good at guitar, so sorry for banging on your wall all those times and saying you suck._

_Connor_

… … … 

His mom is the best person he knows.

He’s sure a lot of people think that about their mom, but whatever. His mom is the only person who’s ever just _wanted_ to be around him. Even though sometimes he wonders if that’s what she actually wants, or she just feels obligated to be around him because everybody else hates him. Either way, at least she’s there.

He does his best to push her away. He knows it’s an asshole move, but he’s an asshole. He thinks she deserves a lot better than his shit-fest life, so he goes out of his way to remove her from it as much as he can. She’s always doing stuff like trying to talk to him or asking him about his day, but he just… He just ignores her a lot.

He doesn’t like talking, though. He never really has, but as he’s gotten older, he’s gotten even worse. He never says the right thing anyway, so it’s easier to just shut up. He’s pretty sure people like it better when he doesn’t talk anyway, so he’s just doing them a favor.

When he was little, though… He used to talk to her sometimes. 

He can remember just always knowing that his dad didn’t like him. But he can also remember always knowing that his mom _did._ She would always take up for him and would defend him whenever his dad started being mean to him. She would take his side over Zoe’s, even though Zoe would throw huge giant fits screaming that it wasn’t fair. She was just… on his side. And he always knew that.

He never had a lot of friends, but he still used to get invited to birthday parties when he was little. He knows now that the elementary school just had an all or nothing policy on passing out invitations in the classroom, so he wonders how many he would have been invited to otherwise. But whatever. Any time he’d get invited to a party, his mom would always make a huge deal out of it. She’d take him to the toy store and buy a present that was probably really way too expensive for some random class birthday party. But it was something. He usually gave really awesome presents, so it would at least make whatever random classmate momentarily okay with the fact that he had to be invited. 

When he was in fourth grade, his mom insisted on throwing him a birthday party. Since his birthday was only a few weeks away from Zoe’s, she usually just threw one party and invited both their classes. That was easier because he could just disappear into the background of all of Zoe’s screaming, annoying friends. But since it was his tenth birthday, she decided that it was somehow special and that needed his own party. He definitely did not want that. He never wanted any party, but he definitely didn’t want one that wouldn’t have the Zoe buffer on it. He tried to tell her that, but she was already knee deep in planning and was showing him all this stuff she found online and just seemed so _excited_ … So he just shut up.

She ordered these expensive invitations, and he handed them out at school, trying not to look at anyone as he dropped them on their desks. He knew it was a terrible idea, but he just wanted to make his mom happy, so he went along with it. She transformed their whole downstairs into this movie theatre kind of thing and brought in a popcorn maker and had every possible kind of candy lined up on a table. And whatever. He just let her do what she wanted because he could tell she was really excited. 

And of course, not a single person showed up.

Connor wasn’t even surprised. He’d spent days trying to think in his head about who might actually show up. He couldn’t come up with a single name. Nobody in his class liked him. He’d seen half the invitations in the classroom trash. The only people who _might_ show up would be forced there by their parents, but he wasn’t even sure if that would happen. It didn’t. 

No one showed up.

Thirty minutes past the party start time, his dad finally told him he could go to his room. His mom still seemed to be holding out hope that everyone was just late and that they’d be ringing the doorbell any second. Connor knew better, so he took the opportunity and went up to his room. He could hear his parents arguing as he went up the stairs. His dad was grumbling about how much it all cost, and his mom was snapping at him to be more sensitive. Zoe was just loudly asking if they still got to eat the cake.

He remembers just lying there on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering for the millionth time what the hell was _wrong_ with him. He knew he didn’t have any friends, but he didn’t know how to change that. He knew his mom was probably devastated, wondering what the hell _she_ did to make him such a loser that he couldn’t even get a single fucking kid to come to his birthday party. Maybe he should have paid somebody to come. Just saved up his allowance or his lunch money or something and gotten people to show up that way. His mom would probably be happy then, even if it was just a couple of people. 

He could pretend like he had friends, and then she’d be happy.

He didn’t think of that ahead of time, though, so it didn’t matter. He was just lying in his room all alone while Zoe was probably downstairs eating his cake. And all the other shit was just wasted. All his mom’s hard work and effort. All that money. Just wasted. 

Eventually, he heard someone coming upstairs, and he could tell by the footsteps that it was her. His mom was coming to check on him. Of course she was. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes right before he heard her knock. When she didn’t get an answer, he heard the knob turning and knew she was just letting herself in.

“Honey?” Her voice was all soft and caring, just like it always was when she was trying to make him feel better about his total shitfest of a life. “Connor, I know you’re not asleep.”

Of course she did. She literally birthed him. She could always tell when he was faking sleep, but it never stopped him from trying. 

“I brought you some cake…” 

He felt his bed shift when she sat down beside him. Then he smelled the cake she pushed under his nose. He cracked one eye and looked at her. She just smiled back at him, a sad kind of knowing smirk or something.

“Come on, sit up.” She helped him move to a sitting position and then leaned back against his headboard with him as she handed over the plate. He didn’t really feel like eating, but he took it anyway. He knew she actually baked it, probably spent a lot of time on it. So he picked up the fork and took a bite.

“Connor.” She took in a breath and dropped her head back for a second. “Today sucked.”

He just looked at her, lifted his eyebrows because his mom didn’t say things like _today sucked._

“I don’t…” She shook her head, and he kind of got the feeling that she’d been planning this conversation in her head. “Things like this don’t matter.”

Sure. Easy for her to say. People actually showed up to _her_ parties. 

“I’m sorry I made you do this.”

He dropped his eyes and took another bite of cake. He shrugged and mumbled around a mouthful of icing. “You didn’t know…”

“We can do something fun tomorrow. Whatever you want. You just pick.”

He didn’t want to do anything. He didn’t want to tell her that, though, so he just kind of nodded his head. 

“You want to talk about it?’ She had her head turned and was looking down at him. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t look up. Instead, he just shook his head.

She put an arm around him and tugged him into her side. He didn’t mind it. She just kept hugging him there and didn’t push it. He just ate the rest of his cake and didn’t say anything. And she just sat there with him until he was finished and for a long time after.

She’s always done stuff like that. She’s just always been _nice_ to him, but that just makes it worse. He shouldn’t be like this when his mom is like that. He shouldn’t be so weird and wrong and fucked up in the head. He doesn’t have any childhood trauma to trigger all the fucked up shit in his head. He doesn’t… There’s just no _reason_ for all this. 

He was literally born into the most normal, All-American looking family in the world. Like… look at their life from the outside, and what the hell does he have to complain about? Nothing. They could be on the cover of a copy of Good Housekeeping from the 50s if it wasn’t for him. He’s the one who makes them wrong. _He’s_ the one who ruins their perfect image. It’s always been him. He’s the one messing them up, so that’s why he needs to leave. It’s better for all of them. Definitely better for his dad and better for Zoe. 

And maybe his mom doesn’t know it, but better for her, too.

She doesn’t deserve all the shit he’s put her through. All the calls from the school and the fights with his dad and the prolonged silent treatments that always just ended with her tearfully _pleading_ with him to just _say something._

He’s ruined her life. She would be so much better off if he wasn’t around. If he’d never even been born. If he wasn’t there, she’d have nothing to fight with his dad over. Zoe would still be happy and fun, and maybe her and his mom could be best friends. Like mothers and daughters are supposed to be. Instead of just two females in the same house who really don’t know anything about each other.

He wants to give her that. He wants to give her a chance at the life she _should_ have had all along. Because she deserves it.

He’s worried about how she’ll handle all of this. He knows she’s going to be a fucking wreck. At least for awhile- at least until she realizes how much better off they all are. But until then, she’s probably going to be a mess. That’s why he’s waited this long.

But he can’t do it anymore. He keeps waiting for something to change, but nothing ever fucking _changes._ He can’t be the person his dad wants him to be. He can’t be normal for Zoe’s sake. He can’t make friends just to please his mom. He can’t do any of that, and he’s never going to be able to do it.

He’s just tired. He’s tired of being this way and feeling like this all the damn time. He doesn’t… He’s just tired. 

When he got home from school today, his mom was waiting anxiously, just really fucking eager to hear how his first day of senior year went. 

“Did you have a good day?” She was smiling at him, her eyes just begging him to say yes. Like today would be any different from any other day.

Normally, he would just ignore her. Protest the fact that she even forced him to go to school in the first place when he clearly didn’t want to. He’d just go to his room and shut the door and ignore her. Because talking is exhausting.

But instead, he stopped there and stared at her. And for two seconds, he actually considered telling her the truth. That he flew off the handle and shoved some kid in a cast down in the hall and then stole that kid’s paper and then totally fucking lost his mind. 

But instead, he just nodded and mumbled, “Yeah, it was fine.”

He could have stuck around and talked to her. He could have given her that at least. But he didn’t. Because doing _that_ would just make _this_ harder.

He thinks about what he should say to her. So much probably. But… He can’t think of a single thing that sounds right.

_Mom,_

_I’m sorry._

_I love you._

_Connor_

… … …

He ends up dropping all three letters into the shredder. 

They won’t change anything. They won’t make any of this better. He’s still going to be dead. He doesn’t really know why he shreds them, but he thinks it’ll be better for everyone. He doesn’t owe his dad anything. Zoe won’t have to wonder why the hell he couldn’t say any of that stuff before. His mom won’t feel betrayed because he couldn’t think of anything to say to her. It’s just better this way.

They probably won’t want to hear from him anyway.

He’s doing them all a favor. He’ll just leave it at that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys for reading. I know this was long, so if you've made it to the end, thank you. Reviews are, of course, appreciated. I've never actually written Connor before, so...


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